Instinctus Animālis
by Hada-Fiction
Summary: Arthur, one born into high society, gets conned into a charity expedition by his aunt, using his longing to travel against him. They lead a caravan of proactive female philanthropists to the "wildlands" seeking to reform and build-up the lower species called Primitives. Arthur finds they will have a harder time of it than expected. Omega!verse, UKUS.
1. Prologue

**Pairing:** UK/US

**Warnings (This Chapter):** light profanity and dry humor, Omega!verse, OCs.

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**INSTINCTUS ANIMĀLIS**

by HadaFiction

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**O**nce upon a time—despite the term being quite unprofessional—there existed two divisions of individual attributed to being our ancestors. These subdivisions coexisted and intermingled on occasion but in order to reach the heights of humanity as we know it, one subdivision set themselves apart from their peers. The others did not assume this role, through will or incapability we do not know, and thus fell behind in an ever-increasing gap of intellect and ingenuity. Needless to say, it has been that way ever since: our countrysides dotted with the offspring of the lower species, hereby dubbed "primitives", living their lives in a state of simplicity and outright animosity; yet our society has risen from such base behaviour into a golden age of higher thought and reasoning to surpass even our predecessors. To say it was a shame for our brethren to fall into such a state will raise many a brow. Any of the public will insist it was simply the way it was intended.

"Heathens, the lot of 'em. They've struck again and I've had enough!" One guest was particularly expressive as he slammed his cup as hard as he dare. The Kirkland manor had served three of the six-course dinner—not including the amuse-bouche of course—and Arthur decided that guest had taken full advantage of the complementary liqueurs. He dabbed at the corners at his mouth instead and turned a blind eye as the course was taken away and replaced with another.

"It isn't enough that I can hear their howling at night but for one of the females to steal, from me for that matter, is nothing short of the lowest of insults." The man's face was redder than the tomatoes in the salad and he struggled even to grumble in his stupor.

"Perhaps it wasn't so wise of you to purchase property so close to that sanctuary, hmm?" Polite laughter rang around the table as some guests chose to chide the man with gems of their own but Arthur's eyes slid to the side instead. A few seats down sat a plump round-faced woman reaching half the height of the dinner chair she sat in, a clever smirk poorly hidden behind a handkerchief. Aunt Alomina, your devil's tongue will get the best of you one day, he thought and watched as she busied herself with her greens. The woman was on par with the beasts she kept as pets but none would say so outright.

Throughout the remaining courses he had heard everything there was to know about her jaguars, assorted wild birds, and foremost a gorilla she claimed to have rescued in the Congo. That being said, he found it hard to ask anything further than how she fared. Once she had started about the troublemaking her children had caused over the holiday, he had to quickly excuse himself for a length he hoped was indefinite.

The cool evening air was welcome on his skin and he stepped further onto the balcony to rid himself of sounds from the gala. A brandy in tow was all he needed as he leaned on the railing, looking up at the stars spread above him. The grounds were alive with a slow and lazy undercurrent, the crickets chirping underneath the summer moon, and he felt himself relax in the sole tranquility of the evening. He took a glance over his shoulder, ever vigilant even when resting. The guests had settled in for after-dinner drinks and, by the looks of said company, Arthur estimated they would be escorted out the door within the hour.

He turned back to the darkness with a sip from his glass only to let out a sigh when he heard the telltale click of high heels. _For fuck's sake. I can't have a moment, can I?_

"Lovely evening, wouldn't you say, sir?"

He turned at the last moment to prepare himself and then put up a charming smile. "Quite. It serves the palate just as well. Have you been enjoying yourself, Miss?"

She offered her hand, "Miss Héderváry. I've heard all about your work, Mister Kirkland, your name precedes you." Arthur gave a soft laugh as he received it and kissed it with purpose. It gave him a moment to look her over, a habit that had saved him time and again, and during which he noticed a rarity among the bunch.

She was dressed modest, a forest green gown that flowed with subtle leaf patterns, but none of the usual finery present company had. Instead, a simple bun held back all but a few wavy locks, which had escaped and framed her face, one that featured a sharp and calculating gaze underneath the pleasantry. _Another man-eater; I'll be damned if I bend to one another moment longer._

"A pleasure, Miss Héderváry. I'm quite flattered." He straightened and released her hand. "Come to enjoy the night air, by chance?" Arthur smile waned when she shook her head. That was all the indication he needed to polish off the rest of his brandy.

"Not exactly, Mister Kirkland. Forgive me for moving straight to business." He chanced a look inside at the gala and was disappointed to see the drawing room hadn't lessened one guest. The majority of them were slumped in chairs to smoke, a few sleeping, and two had made a game of playing pranks on the servants. The odds were in her favor, bar none, yet a small part of his mind hoped the war was far from over.

"Not at all. Please, continue." He stepped to the side and gestured for her to join him at the railing.

"I dabble in philanthropy and, as you might've heard, the Sisters of Charity is a prominent group in the capitol." She didn't wait for more than a nod from Arthur before continuing. "As a member, I hear all sorts of news from everywhere you can imagine but none as important as here at home. Our country is in such a state that even a man like my husband, with his nose in a book, would notice. These are times for change, wouldn't you agree?"

Arthur gave it a moment before relenting that much. "It does seem to have its share of trouble, as any would. Is there one in particular you mean?" Miss Héderváry's smile turned condescending for a moment. It didn't matter what he thought because he was going to hear it all. One wasn't proper unless one avoided the subject at least once and Arthur wasn't about to disappoint.

"Tell me you heard the complaints, just tonight alone." Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise just to stoke the fire and watched as her eyes followed them in disbelief. She cleared her throat and he counted it a personal victory. "Really, Mister Kirkland, I would've thought you were deaf if you hadn't greeted me at the door."

"It comes and goes on occasion; I haven't the mind to control it." If it wasn't for being a guest in his home, he thought his smirk would have her stomp him into the pavement like ash from a cigarette. Miss Héderváry tossed a strand away from her face and didn't deign it a response.

"I speak of the Primitives, Mister Kirkland, and fact that they are getting braver. They couldn't be more vicious and their misbehavior is stretching well outside the borders of their reserves and sanctuaries." She turned to look out among the trees that bordered manicured shrubs and a tidy lawn. "The Capitol wants to seize their lands and use it to show off native flora. The entire territory would be either pleasant gardens for the public or another estate for Her Majesty's corgis if it weren't for the Sisters' intervention. Even poor savages need homes after all."

"I see," Arthur said and forced himself to add, "How exactly do I fit into this arrangement?" Miss Héderváry turned back to him and stepped close enough for him to smell the sweet bite of ginger snap before he heard it in her voice.

"We need a man to back it. No gentleman in their right mind would fund a gaggle of ladies sticking themselves in harm's way, much less, a man with a soft enough heart to rally a good cause. Someone with your particular"—she paused long enough for Arthur to feel the light touch of her hand on his chest—"assets would be a godsend." Her hazel eyes had taken a languid stroll down his frame and up again to his eyes and Arthur felt his pulse quicken a tad.

"I hardly think the venture is worth pursuing considering they haven't been satisfied with what's in front of them. Who's to say their satisfaction can be had at all once you've done them a favor?" It was hard to pull away from her; the willful way she anchored him to the spot was indescribable and, with the gala dying down behind him, nothing to extract a moment away from it. Something in his expression must've given him away because Miss Héderváry had advanced enough for their bodies to press against each other and she smoothed the lapels of his jacket with lingering strokes.

"Simple. We go, we study, and when we leave they'll never know the gifts we left behind," her voice was soft and near undeniable now, "There'll be no one to take advantage of and the hard-earned dosh won't be for naught." Arthur smiled at her use of United English slang. It was too bad it reminded him of what he was and that was more than enough. He sighed.

"Miss Héderváry." He took her hands in his and removed them from where they rested. "I'm afraid I must apologize if I gave the wrong impression. I won't be of any help to you past my knowledge of savage minds. My work precedes me but my name is worth nothing. I must decline."

A bitter look had crossed his face and he stared her in the eyes with frown. She took a step back, perhaps mistaking his fervor for cold dismissal, and the resentment in her smile was clear. The warmth between them had hardly lingered before she walked away and turned back to the doors leading inside.

"A shame," she said, "Your family has a head for business but perhaps you need to sleep on it before you reconsider. I'll call on you soon." A wave of her hand as she turned was all he was given as Miss Héderváry slipped back into the gala where the guests were being ushered out.

His eyes followed her for a moment before he turned to scoff. Arthur knew better than to rush straight to his room, even after an insult like that, and let himself brood on the balcony until the drawing room had emptied. It was only then that he sidled up to the globe that held the spirits inside and hurried up the stairs with a bottle of his father's best cognac.

A toss of his coat one way, his tie on the other, and he had already taken the equivalent of four shots on the way to his bed where he pulled off his shoes and socks. "Good on you, ole boy. She might've had you for a moment but in the end you came out on top." Another swig. "Who did she think was anyway? Asking for my help. Perhaps the Royal Corgis would like to have the extra waddling space."

Arthur chuckled as he wiggled out of his slacks and began to unbutton his shirt. It wasn't as if he didn't want to be out there among the wildlands basking in the intrigue and adventure that came with discovery. It would give him a chance to get away, do the job he wasted away in university for; not to mention the rapport with the ladies. It was what he'd been waiting for but there was always something to stand in his way.

"I wouldn't know the first thing about Primitives, not really. My Senior thesis was something to be admired but I have no field experience," he muttered down the business end of the bottle. "Oh, and let's not forget I'm a loser." Arthur was silent as his thoughts wandered then trailed off into nothing soon after. Another swig, then another to chase it down. The burn on his throat was distraction enough and it wasn't long before he had the bottle tipped clear over his head for the last drops.

"Ah, well," he sighed and laid back against his pillows, "with her out of the way there'll be no one left who doesn't know you're useless." He fell into a heavy and fitful sleep, dark and empty as his thoughts.

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The morning greeted him with harsh light and a high-pitched babbling seeming to rise in volume and proximity. He refused to acknowledge the sounds of business being conducted around him and turned his face into the pillows.

"On your feet, Dear Nephew, there's work to be done and I won't have you waste a perfectly glorious morning in bed!" How Aunt Alomina managed to sound vicious in a sing-song voice was beyond him past the ringing in his ears. Arthur couldn't hide himself fast enough as she continued to open curtains and pick up his clothes strewn across the floor.

"Your days of loafing around waiting for serendipity are over. She was tired of your childish behaviour and decided to give you a good kick in the rear. If that doesn't get you moving you must already be dead." He grumbled and rolled on his side facing away from the windows, burrowing into the mess of comforters like a nest.

"I don't know what you're on about. You of all people should know what a hangover looks like, after all, I suspect your husband has had one continuously since you were wed." Any movement stopped for a moment and Arthur heard her tsk.

"Laugh at my expense all you want. Despite having a less than level head last night, you made a wise decision. I've always told your mother that good upbringing could make use of even the stupidest of creatures."

Arthur frowned. Something was wrong; more than just his stomach churning. "Just a moment," he lifted his head to watch her hand off his suit to be cleaned, "What did you say?"

"Oh you know I only jest, Arthur," she laughed and waved a hand behind her in a vague gesture. "If your brothers hadn't taken the spotlight at such an early age I'm sure you would've come up with something to compete on their level."

"No, no, not that. Before that." Arthur had progressed to propping himself up on his elbows and his aunt raised a slender eyebrow before kneeling to retrieve something from the floor.

"My boy, I don't think you stood a chance while still an infant. Crying will only do so much." She straightened and wiggled the bottle of cognac, "As will Father's liqueur."

Arthur slid his eyes to the side but it didn't sit well with him. He groaned and set his head down where it wouldn't spin as much and struggled to breathe. In a moment of clarity he replied, "I suppose." She seemed satisfied with this and continued on without remarking further.

"Very good," Aunt Alomina gave him a pat on the head—ignoring his agonized groans—and walked to a trash bin by the door, dropping the bottle inside. "I expect you washed and dressed properly within the hour. We have company."

"What?" Arthur shot his head up and only served to make himself queasy again. "W-who...?" he whispered.

"Why, the Sisters of Charity, Arthur. There's a difference between being slow and acting coy, now hurry along." The door was shut firm behind her and Arthur thought she couldn't even have the last word with herself.

Minutes after his aunt's departure, the servants had come in with a tub and coaxed him into it as they would a child. He succeeded in finally shooing them away after they had scrubbed him clean and laid out his clothes. When he was able to dress in peace, he had a light breakfast while reading the paper until dragging himself out of his rooms at the last moment to see to business.

Aunt Alomina was waiting for him in the hall just outside her room and she fell in step with him as he continued. Arthur could feel her watch him from the corner of her eye and knew she wanted to say something. He kept his eyes forward as he spoke. "Go on, out with it. I'd rather retaliate without an audience."

"If you can't convince me, you won't convince them. These ladies are sharp despite what anyone says and they expect a representative of equal caliber."

"Indeed. May I ask who is funding this project?" The two of them were halfway to their destination and Arthur hadn't gotten any answers. She scoffed.

"How doubtful, you think I don't have money of my own? I hardly think your uncle could manage an estate, sober or otherwise. When I heard we would be selected as representatives, I made sure to set aside the proper sum." Arthur turned his head to look at her.

"What do you mean by 'we'—?"

"Tell me, are you still hung-over?" She smirked.

"Never better," he sniffed. He frowned and trained his eyes in front of him again. They would only have a few feet before taking a turn around the corner and passed the wooden doors that led to the main entry.

"Try to restrain the urge to vomit until after our guests leave." She laid a patronizing hand on his arm as he held it out for her to take. "First impressions are hard to take back."

"Believe you me, I would know." The determination in Arthur's eyes had prompted Aunt Alomina to hold her tongue, a cat-like smile growing in its stead, as they walked the last steps to the doors and were announced crossing the threshold.

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**A/N:** I hope you liked my new series, a much-needed return to writing, which in turn might spark proper writing for my other stories. I haven't given up on any of them but they have been slow coming where this story has a plot from beginning to end. My thanks to **Ahr0** for helping me see what was already in my face and spurring me to get started.


	2. I: Lone Wolves

**Warnings** (this chapter): POV switch, 1st person narrative, OC's

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**I: Lone Wolves**

_Of Outcasts and the Departure_

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**H**e had been whipped that day. The most painful punishment was not only on his skin but also in his heart. They wanted to teach him a lesson, a gift to him even as he was scorned, something Alfred thought perhaps now he understood.

His fingers traced the grooves high on his shoulders where wounds once left him gasping from shock. The scars were a reminder of his only redemption and he would have it the day his dreams came to life. It was because he had failed to fill his role and why his pack—even his family—had turned away from him with their eyes to the ground, sending him to live alone. He lingered on the outskirts of their territory, for he truly had nowhere else to go, and made his peace for the time being.

The river water was cold today. It chilled him as he poured it over his arms and washed the grime away. Alfred had wrestled a doe to the ground earlier that day during his hunt and the way she had struggled was admirable. It made his success both a proud and sad one. He would just have to make sure the doe was not wasted. Alfred poured more water over his head and, as he ran his fingers through, noticed the leaves caught in his long hair. The blond strands stood out against the bold green of early summer, he thought, and took a moment to quietly take in the forest around him.

The trees soared high above, spreading out amongst the sky in thick branches, and thousands of wide leaves filtered in sunlight as a honeyed glow. A light breeze drifted through from the canopy and the sound coupled with a bird's song somewhere nearby. He followed a fish's path downstream as it brushed past smooth river rocks of every color, along the muddy banks, and past him to distant places. It was a tranquil murmur behind his wandering thoughts until he heard a soft sound that was out of place.

It was the sound of footsteps; and with it, the smell of an Alpha.

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**May 4th**

The tour has gotten off to an unremarkable start. Despite hours of careful planning the month prior, it seems whatever can go wrong will; all for the sake of making me look bad. I gave everyone involved an invitation to stay at Kirkland Manor—delivered by swiftest courier, I assure you—and they were allotted three days to arrive. Obviously none could be bothered to make good time. I was told no soul possesses my ability to ready one's bags in an hour, yet the ladies of our entourage boldly made this point, so I will take that with a grain of salt.

Aunt Alomina might as well be a feral lioness baring her fangs for all the livid embarrassment she claims to have endured. She fears I might have upset them by the hasty pace of our preparation yet still carries on as if it suits her. Whatever her misgivings with me, she hides it well in front of our guests and for that I am thankful. It was with her backing that the other ladies accepted my leadership and I still hear her reassurances when my back is turned. I feel her confidence in my reliability is sorely misplaced but perhaps she will begin to see the results of that mistake in time.

All of the ladies and crewmen are present if the headcount is accurate. Imagine my luck should I leave even one behind; we would be better off gallivanting with the children to public parks looking for faeries.

In light of better news, there have been no reports of delay on the railways out of Greater London and our first stop is a short ways off the coast. I thought it would be a pleasant introduction into what we can expect on the Continent by taking the ferry in Southampton to the Primitive habitat reserve on the Isle of Wight. We won't be but a few days since none of us save the crew are seasoned travellers.

Speaking of which, I have been writing to respected scholars including my former professors and they recommend an expert who has interacted heavily with the Primitives in the Royal Territories. I hope he favors our expedition and decides to meet us. In the meantime, I imagine the ladies in the other car talk of inconsequential things and the crewmen around me play a game of suits. I, on the other hand, will try not to dream of success before it is due.

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"So this is where you've been loafing around. My men have been out hunting and barely stick to task with your scent running rampant." Alfred held his place in the stream and looked to the west bank where a man of large build but short stature stood.

He had caramel skin and azure tattoos wrapped around his left arm, more marks trailing from his neck down his midsection. Feathers adorned his short braids and he wore a necklace made of leather. The man's manner of dress was similar to Alfred's: a loincloth, a few leather straps to hold his spear and knife, and a light fur across the shoulders. His scent was strong even being upwind from him and it was the same Alfred had smelled at a mile's distance. He was a high-ranking Alpha, his stance was relaxed and even a bit hesitant, both hints that Alfred didn't have anything to worry about for now.

"Ehlis," Alfred lowered his head in submission. The act wasn't necessary, but challenging another Alpha without his comrades behind him was just as dangerous. He kept his speech casual. "I didn't know you all hunted this far out. I've been a little out of touch with the pack-"

"Yeah, I know. Your hearing must be failing you having to hunt on your own." Ehlis kept his eyes on the banks as if he was talking to the weeds but Alfred knew that part of him would be ready to strike should Alfred make any sudden moves. "There's been less game around here since the cooler weather is further north and east of us. We've had to be more vigilant."

"I've noticed. The doe I caught just now must've gotten lost; she didn't follow any herd." The mention of a kill caught Ehlis's attention and his eyes shot straight to Alfred's before looking away again with a scowl.

"Of course an '_unseeable_' would get to it first. Living off the border margin scraps." Alfred's hands curled into fists under the water's current but he made no move to challenge him. Ellis seethed in silence for a moment before turning back to the trail he'd followed to the river. He stopped before the trees were thickest and looked up at the branches. "How big was she? the doe?"

Alfred watched him stand still, his posture stiff and tense. Ehlis was listening but expecting the worst for his hunting party. Alfred let himself enjoy the humid heat as he pondered. It would've been easy enough to lie, either in or out of his favor, but there wouldn't be a point. Ehlis would have to look for his own kill either way.

"She looked enough to feed on for two moons on my own. Enough for three until the sun sets." Ehlis scoffed but didn't say anything else as he stalked back into the forest, spear at the ready.

Alfred let himself relax after he could no longer smell his scent in the air and then chuckled to himself. Ehlis might've been on the borders of the pack's territory hunting, but what was he doing following the scent of an Omega?

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**May 11th**

Our stay was truly educational. There is much I have yet to understand about the Primitives even as simple as they appear to be. I spent so much time observing them that I didn't think to take record of it. How embarrassing. I would do better to remember such important things or I will have nothing to show for it when I make my proposal to the expert I mentioned.

I'm told that we will receive the post when our party arrives back in Southampton. I have already arranged to forward it there and will send it onwards into the Royal Territories once we reach Falmouth. Perhaps I will hear more from my colleagues then. I'll just try to recount my experiences on Wight as best I can while we ride to the coast.

Before I forget, the ladies have taken it upon themselves to adorn each primitive they've met with a nickname based on their appearance. They have a lovely time of crafting stories based on the bat of an eyelash. I don't know how many times I've heard a story about a saucy brunet and stern ginger having an affair unbeknownst to the raven-haired Primitive. I'm quite certain they are all men despite only one of them possessing long hair. Perhaps I should keep away from such talk and save myself the migraine.

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**May 15th**

I haven't had time for much since we boarded the train. Aunt Alomina tasked me with entertaining the ladies instead of "sitting around with [my] head in the clouds". It's becoming obvious that they would have nothing to do with me aside from being a tour guide but, I'm afraid they'd be sorely mistaken to count on that particular skill. I've come up with anything that ventures into my head to cure their boredom but, to both them and me, it is hard to appreciate the journey when the destination seems out of reach. They keep me a breath's distance from my temper at times yet, indeed, I have not had prolonged exposure to social types in quite a while. Perhaps it will be good practice.

Our journey takes us out of Port Pendennis, around England's westernmost tip, and across the English Channel to Boston Harbor. I suppose by then it'll be quite early in the morning when we disembark and find lodgings so, I'd best get sleep while I can.

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Night descended over the forest in a lazy fashion, the warmth still carrying on as the moon rose and the stars appeared. Alfred waited until the night concealed him and slinked through the underbrush towards the scent of burning wood. It wasn't too long before he was deep in his pack's territory and through the trees the campfires were bright spheres amongst the darkness. He chose a spot where a few bushes grew close together at the bottom of a hill—his scent wouldn't carry unless someone came close—and watched the silhouettes of his brethren move about.

Much of the pack was settled around the fires, telling stories and sharing the kill their hunting parties had brought back. Alfred figured he could name each shadow, short or tall, he knew the little ones and the scents of their parents. The children scampered through the groups of adults playing their own games, the sounds of their laughter melded in with soft music playing among them.

Alfred sighed. The feeling of loneliness lessened as he watched them grow in health and strength but the longing was always there. It was an underlying notion that he could leave this place and only worry about himself yet he was unable. The bond; that force which connects each member to their pack, a "lone-wolf" to their mate, a son to his family. _Yes, that's what it is._ Alfred felt it tug on his heart when the moon was high, when the deer ran, or when he heard the cry of an animal in the night. He craved that certain type of warmth with many names but which came from one place. Even as he was certain he would have it back someday, the cold was like a fog that hid the way.

The last of the fires died out as everyone crawled into their dens to sleep and Alfred rose to his feet, sore from sitting so long on the ground. He spared the small hills one more glance for the night and saw one standing in the grass where he was sure there was none. The figure turned its face to the moon, still for a moment, and then drew a breath. A howl sang from its lungs in a sad and lonesome melody.

The sound told of searching for someone —of missing and reaching out for that one in the darkness—all in the delicate rhythm that sounded familiar. When the figure turned its body to face his spot in the trees, he ran away from that lonely presence as fast as he could, leaving his heart far behind him.

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**A/N:** Long time no see. I had some trouble with this chapter as you might've noticed but I think it was a wall I had to bust through, no matter the headache. On top of that, there was a continuity issue between the first chapter and this one that I had to fix as well. Next chapter should be longer if I can get it to flow easier. OTL

I would like to thank my co-worker and also **Ahr0** for their continued support. They're such good sports when I get ridiculous. Thank **you **also for the favorites, follows, and reviews! I am so excited this many people like what I've written because I think all my wit was spent trying to win you over last chapter, lol.

I'm sure you're all wondering why the English Channel connects to Boston Harbor. I decided on an AU world and reinvented a little of what we already know of geography. *shrugs* Might be an intellectual choice or a cop-out way of displaying my love for USxUK—no one will know. I posted an AU map with a legend in my profile for any who are interested, it also marks Arthur's journey thus far. Have at it while I work on churning out some concept art.


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